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What Happens When Jaggi Vasudev Ghostwrites?

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  What matters more- the Opinions or the Speaker?     Over the last couple of weeks, I had been posting some particularly bigoted views on Facebook. Some were extremely misleading and others factually and scientifically incorrect. The idea was to pass someone else's ideas, someone else's views, someone else's statements as my own. Based on the reactions that followed, I believe it was quite successful, especially towards the beginning.  These were not my statements. Those were Jaggu Vasudev's statements, you might more commonly know him as "Sadhguru". What I did was, remove the personality, the charisma, the allure, the authority of the person, and instead presented the words bare-bones. I wanted to see how people would take these statements, would they see the farce, would they still take the words with equal reverence?   The posts got varied responses, some were pissed off, offended. Some were irked. Some agreed with it and some found them hilarious. There w
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A Meaningless Story

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"He was in love. She, was not. He loved her with all his heart and mind. His was a world consumed by her— he lived, breathed and slept in her memory. She, however, was far away, in her own land of cotton candy—living and breathing someone else. Her mind was occupied, and he was not even an afterthought. " *** Now, the scene is this— this dude has to somehow get to her, you know, tell her how he feels. I mean, not just tell her how he feels, which is easy, comparatively, you know. He can do that. This dude, here, has to make her fall for him. Now, remember, this dude is just some random Tom, Dick and Harry. Not an alpha male, not a steroid pumped hunk. Just a regular guy, you know. Like you and me. You, yes. Me? No. I could easily qualify for a hunk. Anyway, what's the problem? Just write it up. Make it up. Wave your pen, make the girl fall for him. You have that power. No, no, no. Now, this can't be any old story. I can't just "write" it, you know. I
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...After Three Months in Dhanusha

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It is around 4 in the afternoon but the sun is as strong as a mid day sun.  I have just come out of  the  bus  which had stopped in front of Himanshu dai's and Saroja 's placement school.  I'm sweating.  I'm trying to handle the heat.  I'm telling myself this is what I signed up for.  But deep within I'm regretting my choice. (Day one of the fellowship)   A few days  later,  in the evening I'm standing on the rooftop of Himandhu dai and Saroja's home for the next two years.  I look around but can't recognize this strange place.  I don't see Nepal here.  It feels like a village from a Hindi movie.What I see is a place straight out of a Raj Kumar Rao film. I ask, "why is this place so different from Nepal?". I tell myself this is Nepal as well.  But the "Nepali" in me feels something else.  Everyday when I go to school and come back,  I see women in faded saris which was once too brightly coloured.  I also see the ne
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